


When First We Practice

by Vera



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Alcohol, Humor, M/M, Make Them Do It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1998-11-01
Updated: 1998-11-01
Packaged: 2017-10-09 01:02:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/81325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vera/pseuds/Vera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>"Jim," Blair's voice cracked, "why am I naked?"</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	When First We Practice

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Circle Jerk](https://archiveofourown.org/works/81311) by [Vera](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vera/pseuds/Vera). 



"Jim." The pitiful croak drifted down the loft's stairs to the sharp ears of a man sitting on a white couch, reading a newspaper.

"Jim." This time accompanied by a hacking dry cough. Jim turned the page. A careful observer would note a certain anticipation lurking in his otherwise calm expression.

"Jim, what am I doing in your bed?"

"I was too exhausted to pick you up and carry you downstairs."

The non-sound of cogitation filled the loft. The ghost of what might have been a smile crossed Jim's face. The sheets on his bed rustled, and a moment later, "Jim?"

"Yeah."

"Jim," Blair's voice cracked, "why am I naked?"

"You took your clothes off, Chief."

If embarrassment, quiet horror and the dawning realisation of bridges crossed and burned could colour a voice, they coloured Blair's. "Why did I take my clothes off?" he whispered. Fortunately he was whispering to a Sentinel.

"I believe it was something about rubbing your body all over mine."

This time it was the silence of breath held and hearts stopped. And then, "Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck."

"That too, baby."

"God!" then, "Oww!" as Blair's own shout hurt his head. "God, Jim, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, man."

"Nothing to be sorry about," Jim replied, then paused before continuing, "Big Guy."

Blair drew the bed covers up over his head. The morning light was hurting his eyes and he wasn't sure if he really wanted to face the day. He was naked. He was hungover. He was in his best friend's bed. He couldn't remember how any of it had come about.

Come.

Come to think of it, there wasn't any. Not on his penis or his belly. Not on his thighs, or his ass.

"Jim?"

Even muffled by the thick duvet, the sound of his voice reached Jim's ears.

"Yeah?"

"Did we, ah... did we... ah... were we safe?"

In the brief silence that followed, his heart sped up. And then, "Sure we were safe, honey."

Right. Good. He'd not been so out of it to take risks with Jim. Good.

Honey?

His relative cleanliness was puzzling though. His brain, slowed by dehydration and morning after revelation shock, finally worked it's way round to realising Jim must have cleaned him up before they slept. Before Jim slept, anyway. Blair almost smiled, would have if his face didn't hurt so much. Jim was so anal. He just hadn't realised how anal. Good grief.

He started to drift off, warm and cosy under the covers where he could smell cotton and Jim and himself. Not really a bad thing, after all.

A muffled thump accompanied the smack on his ass. He yipped. How embarrassing. Bloody stealthy bloody ex-covert ops bloody tiptoeing bloody roommates. Connor was right. Australian was a very satisfying language to swear in.

"Up and at 'em, Atom Ant. Criminals don't arrest themselves, you know."

Blair chose not to come out from under the covers. Just because he was out of the closet didn't mean he had to give up manchester altogether.

"I don't feel so good, Jim. I might just sleep for a bit and come in later."

"Hey, don't tell me I'm responsible for wearing out Mr Love Machine himself?" Jim teased. "Wait till I tell Joel."

Blair groaned. "Jim, come on man, don't do this to me."

His partner chuckled. How could he find this situation funny? He hadn't woken up in someone else's bed with no recollection of how he'd arrived there - or what he'd done once he had - in too many years. It was juvenile, it was irresponsible and he didn't remember the good bits. He hoped they were good bits. He peeked out from under the sheets. Jim was smiling happily at him. Must have been good. Thank fuck. He had a reputation to uphold, after all.

"See you round lunchtime then?" Before he could react, Jim had swooped in and dropped a kiss on his forehead.

It felt as if Jim has branded his skin with a kiss of fire. Actions spoke louder than words, he thought, wondering if he'd ever breathe again.

"Blair? You okay?"

"Yeah, Jim," he managed to reply. Breathe. Breathing good. "I'm fine. Lunchtime. No worries. Go get some bad guys. Score one for the Nipper."

Now it was Jim's hand brushing his cheek. More fire.

"That's Gipper, Chief. See you."

The fire was gone and Jim was gone, too. There was the door, closing, and he was alone. Naked. In Jim's bed. A situation Jim appeared to find acceptable and unremarkable.

And Blair had a hard on from the touch of his best friend's hand.

Hey now, he thought, cupping his penis, Jim and I did the dirty. Even if I don't remember last night, I'll remember next time. Fuzzily but happily anticipating future pleasure, he curled a comforting hand around his penis, rolled over, being careful not to move his head too quickly, and went to sleep.

Several hours later, showered and feeling more human Blair made his way back upstairs, wanting to survey the scene of the crime. As the shower had started restoring his IQ to normal, he'd started wondering why his ass wasn't sore. In fact, none of the expected muscles were sore. His head ached, but nothing else did. He knew what his body felt like the morning after sex. It didn't feel that way this morning. He smelt a rat. A Jim-sized rat.

As he made the bed he searched, hoping for clues but the sheets were smooth and clean, the pillows fluffy - there were no tell-tale stains. Not that there would be. They'd used condoms, after all. Hadn't they?

He got down and looked under the bed. No dust. No tissues. No lost magazines. No condom wrappers.

Nor were there any in the bin beside Jim's bed, the half full bin in the kitchen, the bin in the bathroom still sporting the previous day's floss or even in the bin in his own room, overflowing with paper. There were no discarded condoms or condom wrappers in the loft.

Maybe Jim flushed it down the toilet?

No way. Jim would never do that. The toilet might back up. Jim had been known to provide discrete paper bags for female guests just in case.

So, if there were no condoms used and Jim said they'd used a condom, then there were only two possible deductions: Jim lied and they didn't use a condom or Jim lied and they hadn't had sex.

Okay. Maybe, just maybe Jim removed the condom from the loft. Yuk. Not even Jim would carry a used condom around with him. Unless he was involved in some bizarre breeding experiments.

Good grief! Blair felt like his brain was melting to be coming up with such ideas. The problem had his mind in a twist. His usual analytical skill had deserted him. Why would Jim lie and say they'd had sex when they clearly hadn't? It seemed too bizarre a practical joke even for Jim, playful as he was.

Thinking hard, he made himself breakfast, acknowledging the maxim that if it's after you wake up and before lunch then it must be breakfast. Starting from the beginning, he went over the chain of events that had led to last night.

* * *

"You're new in town, we're your co-workers, it's up to us to show you a good time. Simple syllogism, Megan."

"This isn't some Yentl thing, is it Sandy?"

"Only if you dress up like a yeshiva student," Blair chuckled, "I swear I wouldn't try to set you up. Stephen is Jim's brother. It's family, man."

"Okay," Megan agreed, "I'll be there. Your place, 7.30, dinner then club."

"You got it! We're gonna have a _great_ time."

* * *

Blair danced around the kitchen, singing along with Megan and Barenaked Ladies. As it turned out, she'd come straight to the loft with Jim after work, planning to change there. She'd generously brought two precious six packs from a care package. "My dad knows how appalling American beer is," she'd said. "Though it would probably be cheaper to find a local bottle shop that sold imported beer."

"VB," Blair had cheered when she unpacked them. "I haven't had that since I was --" he looked up to find Jim watching him carefully, "-- for a while." No need for Jim to know that Naomi believed that the best protection a child could have was knowledge.

They were up to a third beer each and were stumbling over the rap verses of "One Week" -- an incapacity they both found hilariously funny but recovered from in time to shout in each other's face _Still got the rug burns on both my knees_.

Jim had drawn the shower short straw and emerged from the bathroom just in time to rescue the bruschetta from carbonising.

"Hey, hey Ellison," Megan leered, "nice. Very nice. Good thing you're a guy," she told her partner in drink, "or Jim would be in serious strife."

"Yeah," Blair slung an arm over her shoulder as the towel clad Jim turned to face them. "As it is I've got to run interference when we go jogging, or Jim'd never make it round the circuit. Sadly, that means I have to talk to all the babes in running shorts." He snickered at his lame joke. Standing side by side they blocked Jim's exit from the kitchen. Jim tried a level 5 glare, not too harsh, but enough to signal _I mean business_ and as one tipsy but graceful team, they stepped back, parted and bowed low as Jim passed through them. Grinning cheekily, Megan feinted a grab at Jim's towel, waggling her eyebrows at Blair who found the idea so funny he had to sit down. On the floor. "Been there, done that," he managed to gasp.

"Oh ho," Megan headed for the fridge, "do tell all." Over beer number four, Blair told her of their oil platform adventures while Jim finished cooking dinner. He was a little pissed at Sandburg abandoning the cooking, and if Stephen hadn't been coming, he would have left it and ordered take out. He managed to score one of the Australian beers and then hid the remaining three before his roommate and colleague finished them off. But by that time Stephen arrived bearing wine and the tipsy twosome happily changed beverage.

* * *

Blair realised it all started to get blurry from there. He remembered cutting out on Jim and Stephen after entree. Neither he nor Connor were hungry, but they were ready to rock. With a tumble of assurances, "Yeah, I have money for a cab, sure we'll be at Chasers, no we'll be fine, gotta dance, man, see you there, ok?" and Connor chiming in, "Gotta sing, gotta dance," they were out the door.

The next thing he could recall was waking up in Jim's bed. What had happened in between? Breakfast ratcheted his IQ up a few more points. He smiled as he thought of a cunning plan.

* * *

Joel looked up as Blair skipped into the bull pen.

"Hey, hey, buddy," Joel smiled, "Looks like someone got real lucky last night."

"You don't know the half of it, my man," Blair replied, grinning from ear to ear and radiating peace and goodwill to everyone within a twelve mile radius. "We are talking a major slab of lucky. Sundown to sunup and once more just to make sure we'd got it right the previous times. You can't be too careful!"

"Well, Jim," Rafe was standing next to him, "maybe if you wore a wig you'd get as much as Hairboy, here."

Blair smiled enigmatically.

"So who's the lucky girl?" Joel asked.

Blair tapped the side of his nose. "Ah, you know a gentleman never kisses and tells," he said, looking at Jim, who had been looking back with vague alarm. "Besides," Blair continued, "if I told everyone would want a share and, frankly my friends, this one's all mine." He bestowed the sweetest of sweet smiles on Jim, shared its glow with the assembled gossips and finally asked, "Hey, where's Megan?"

"Called in sick," Simon said, coming up behind him. "You wouldn't know anything about that would you, Sandburg?"

"Who me?" Mr Innocence replied and slid into his chair at Jim's desk. Having done his best to embarrass Jim without actually saying anything that anyone could later pin down as an admission he thought that well begun was half done. Let Jim stew. Let him wonder what Blair remembered. Or, as Jim must realise, what Blair could only imagine he remembered. Unable to think of a song with lyrics about tangled webs, he contented himself with singing the theme to "Spiderman".

He taunted Jim all day: glancing away when Jim looked at him to give the impression he'd been staring, moving in close to Jim then moving away sharply as if suddenly realizing what he was doing and, his piece de resistance, humming while using the photocopier as Jim and half of Major Crimes stood around the nearby coffee machine. They'd slowly all stopped talking to look at him. In their silence he devilishly decided to break into words, "...my secret love's no secret, anymore..." finishing with another brilliant smile for Jim before gathering up the copied report and strolling back to Jim's desk. Flushed with success, he contemplated "I am what I am", but decided that would be going too far.

By the end of the day Jim was as twitchy as a cat on a hot tin roof and obviously worried. He looked at Blair half sorrowfully and half fearfully, returning Blair's warm smiles with a transparent insincerity.

"Nearly time to go home, hey Jim?" Blair put on an eager and hopeful expression. It was no lie. He couldn't wait to get Jim alone. Mr Payback was in town.

Jim looked like a man condemned. "Uh, care to have a beer with Rafe and H?"

"No way, man. Once a week is more than enough. I think I need an early night," he leered.

Jim's Adam's apple bobbed. Muscles twitched along his jaw. Blair could almost hear the faint echo of drums and bugles as Jim stood straighter, visibly girding his mental loins.

Never mind, Jim, Blair thought, I'm sure confession will be good for your soul. You bastard.

Reprieve came for Jim like a cool breeze from the bottom of the world.

"Hey Jim, Blair! Wait up." Megan called. "Can you give me a lift back to my car? Left it at your place last night." She caught up with them at the lift.

In the garage Jim opened the passenger door for her.

"Hey Sandy, mind if I sit near the window? My stomach doesn't like it if I'm not driving but I don't think Jim's going to let me drive. See?" She slapped Blair's shoulder, smiling at Jim, "That's the face of a man who'll never ever let his girlfriend drive his car."

Blair smirked as he swung up in to the cab, "Yeah, Jim likes to be in the driving seat."

The drive back to Prospect was torture for Jim. Regardless of the care he gave to cornering, centrifugal force pressed Blair into his side, warm and heavy against his hip and arm. One time Blair caught himself from falling - quite unnecessarily, Jim though - by grabbing Jim's thigh.

Every time Blair turned his head to face Megan his hair, gloriously undone, would brush Jim's shoulder and fill the truck with a seductive mix of shampoo and body heat. Jim knew that sooner or later he'd have to tell Blair he'd played a joke on him. Sooner rather than later. Before the feel of Blair against him undermined his best intentions and he was tempted to make truth of this morning's practical joke.

They trooped upstairs together, Jim taking the rear, giving him a little space to gather his shredding composure. Once inside, Megan grabbed her keys and started to say goodbye.

"Connor, why don't you stay for the meal you missed last night?" Jim kidded himself he didn't sound like he was begging.

"I don't know Jim..."

"I don't think Megan will find tonight's meal appetizing," Blair purred.

"What are we..." he started to ask but the words stuck as he turned his head to look at Blair - standing too close! - and caught the end of the wink Blair was tipping Megan. Years of training leapt to his defence. He thought fast.

"Pizza!" He moved to the phone with a jerky swiftness and grabbed it like a lifeline. Waving it in the air, he asked, "What sort of pizza do you like, Megan?"

Glancing back and forth between them, and looking not a little bemused, she declined. "No thanks, Jim. I think last night is finally catching up with me. I'm gonna go reaquaint myself with bed."

"Heh heh. Good idea, don't you think Jim? We should do the same."

Jim felt the hairline fractures forming in the phone he held. "Are you sure, Connor?" he asked, his voiced pitched only a little higher than usual, "I'm sure we owe you one."

"Thanks, mate, but no, I'll take a rain check." She smiled at him and headed for the door, ushered by a solicitous and faintly triumphant Blair, "It's beddybunkles for this little black duck. You two," she gripped Blair's shoulder, "have a nice night in."

Before Jim could respond the door had opened and closed and his only hope of reprieve was tip tapping her way down the hall, the sound of her footsteps getting fainter and fainter.

"Jim." Blair was right in front of him, hand on his chest, easing the phone out of his grip. "Phone for the pizza already. That's if it's food you're hungry for." Blair was stroking his chest. Jim realised the hand that had been holding the phone was still up in the air, an odd parody of the royal wave. Queen. Damn. He stepped back sharply and smacked his ass against the counter. Pain focused his mind.

"Blair. There's something I have to tell you." His friend wasn't listening. His friend, his roommate was stepping forward and pinning him against the counter. "Talk later," Blair growled and then he was sucking on Jim's neck, one hand pulling up Jim's shirt, the other wiggling down between skin and jeans.

"No." Jim cried, grabbing Blair by the upper arms and pushing him back, "Not --"

"You're right, Jim," Blair interrupted. "Not here." He looked up to the loft and then back at his frazzled Sentinel, "Let's get comfy." He took Jim's hand and started dragging him towards the stairs.

"That's not --"

"What Jim?" With a speed that defied explanation Blair was plastered against him, this time his wandering hands massaged Jim's ass. "Not the bed? Shower? Table? Sofa? Man, when you abandon the house rules, you sure do it in grand style!" He started licking the tender concavity of Jim's throat. "C'mon Jim," he murmured against skin, "You remember last night and I don't. I'm dying of curiosity here. I need a little repeat action to jog my memory. It's been driving me crazy all day." He pulled Jim close, so close Jim could tell Blair was going commando. Jim felt his cock taking an interest in proceedings. So did Blair, who stepped up his neck campaign and began blazing a path to Jim's ear.

With a wordless cry of frustration and well, frustration, Jim disengaged himself from Blair, the clinging sex vine. He held up his hands to ward off his friend. Friend, he reminded himself, taking a deep breath. Or two. He certainly wasn't panting. Oh no.

"Sandburg," he tried again, waving his hands, "don't interrupt!" This time Blair stopped, his expression a little bewildered, a little something else. He half opened his mouth, then shut it miming a zipper across his lips.

Jim closed his eyes and gathered his thoughts. When he opened them again it was to see Blair eyeing his body with open interest. This was not going to be easy.

"Sandb-- Blair, can we sit down?"

"Sure Jim." Blair headed to the sofa. Jim waited till he was settled before sitting down at the other end. Blair was looking at him with a steady regard, the passionate man of five minutes ago gone. Jim read trust, concern and affection in his expression and felt like a complete bastard.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a companion to my story, Circle Jerk. I enjoy light-hearted 'made them do it' stories and wanted to try the theme from two different perspectives. This isn't a remix so much as a thematic sister.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Circle Jerk](https://archiveofourown.org/works/81311) by [Vera](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vera/pseuds/Vera)




End file.
